I said nothing, just stared at Tiffany, her cheeks flushed, as if daring me to react.
From the moment I started dating Elliott, I had known about his childhood friend, the one who always seemed to orbit too close. Whenever we went out, Tiffany would materialize as if conjured, seamlessly inserting herself into our dates like an oversized third wheel.
It didn’t take long to see the truth: Tiffany was in love with Elliott.
Back then, I had fought with him over it. My frustration spilled out in sulky complaints, and he always soothed me with the same gentle refrain. “She’s just a buddy; don’t overthink it.”
For a while, she appeared less frequently, though her hostility toward me deepened. And now, seeing them entwined so naturally, I felt no jealousy, only a strange sense of harmony. Trash, after all, belongs in the same pile.
Ignoring their stares, I headed to the bedroom to pack my belongings.
Behind me, Tiffany raised her voice, a sickly sweet attempt at feigned innocence. “Your girlfriend won’t misunderstand us, will she?”
The words were a mockery disguised as clarification, dripping with smugness. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t invested enough in Elliott to care, much less rise to her bait.
From the living room, Elliott’s cold sneer echoed, “What right does she have to mind?”
Then, louder, he barked toward the bedroom door, “Candice, if you don’t get out of this apartment immediately, I’ll call the cops and report you for trespassing!”
Without looking up, I kept folding my clothes. “Don’t worry. I’ll leave as soon as I’m done packing.”
That calm reply seemed to ignite him. He stormed into the room, kicking over the suitcase I had just filled, scattering its contents across the floor. “I bought every single piece of clothing, here! If you’re leaving, you take nothing. Not one thing!”
